


Starting Something

by Finnspiration



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, M/M, Meeting as Adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:42:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finnspiration/pseuds/Finnspiration
Summary: Rhett meets a man at a charity dinner.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	Starting Something

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by Ear Biscuits #262

Rhett was thoroughly bored by the charity dinner. 

There was neither enough food nor interesting enough food to interest him, and the time between the courses was taking too long. At least he'd been seated beside someone interesting. A quirky, handsome man who was going gray, fidgeted all through the meal, and didn't seem to be hungry at all.

"Aren't you going to eat that?" asked Rhett, leaning closer so he could speak quietly and not interrupt the other diners.

The handsome man, who'd said his name was Charles Neal and he was a filmmaker, shook his head. "I don't like fish." He took another sip of his rapidly disappearing wine, eyes darting all around the table as if he was nervous.

"Why didn't you order the other menu then?" asked Rhett, still keeping his voice soft. Charles seemed so fidgeting and on edge, Rhett felt like he had to avoid scaring him.

"I don't like turkey, either, and at least I liked the side dishes with this meal." He gestured to his salmon. "You can have it if you want, it's just going to go to waste."

Rhett, who was trying not to be charmed by the soft, southern accent that reminded him of back home, brightened up. "Well if you insist," he said. 

"I don't insist," said Charles. "I'm offering." He looked at Rhett's face, and then gave him a friendly little smile. 

The warmth touched his eyes, and Rhett smiled back, genuinely charmed.

"Shove it over here." He looked around quickly to be sure they weren't being observed. It seemed like they were safe at the moment. Feeling like a kid doing something naughty in the cafeteria at school, he got Charles's salmon onto his place, and proceeded to devour it. It helped a bit with his hunger problem. Maybe his stomach wouldn't growl audibly now. 

"I probably shouldn't have come to this thing hungry, but I thought there'd be enough to eat."

"You really liked that," observed Charles. 

"Sure, I love to eat," said Rhett. "I'm a big man." He wondered if he should volunteer more about himself, but he'd already told Charles he was a college basketball coach. 

It had seemed like the easiest career choice after playing basketball in college, although sometimes he thought that had mostly been to please his dad. He sometimes wished he'd done something with music or filmmaking himself, but of course he wasn't going to say that to a stranger.

"What made you decide to become a filmmaker?" he asked instead.

Charles shrugged. "It was just something I liked. A way to be creative. I wanted to make things." He glanced at Rhett's face again, as if gauging his interest levels. 

His eyebrows did a funny questioning thing, very mobile and appealing, going up towards the middle of his face quite high. He had bright blue eyes in deep set eyes, behind dark framed glasses, and his hair had been trimmed and fixed to within an inch of its life—a far cry from Rhett's most unkempt beard and curls. 

Rhett liked feeling freer, was enjoying growing out his hair, but he knew people sometimes underestimated him because of it. They thought he was a hippie or a homeless man, sometimes. 

Did Charles think that? He seemed interested in whatever he saw.

"I mostly did local commercials at first," continued Charles. "It was awhile before I had the money to make anything else. Then mostly small documentaries. I did the film circuits and got a bit of recognition, but I'm still looking for my big break." He lowered his voice. "To tell you the truth, if I don't find it soon, I probably won't find it at all. I'm forty now, and that feels really danged old sometimes."

"It's not that old," said Rhett, who was forty-one. He shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He meant to keep quiet, but the words just slipped out. "Must be quite the life," he said wistfully. "On the road, wherever the work takes you. Filming. Talking to people."

"Sometimes it's nice," agreed Charles. "Like living life on tour. But sometimes it's real lonely." He held his wineglass in both hands now, as if for comfort, and looked down at his plate.

"No wife?" asked Rhett cautiously. Nevada wasn't as restrictive about sexual orientation as his hometown had been, but he was careful all the time, anyway. 

The university where he worked probably couldn't have officially fired him for being into men, but it was really safer to keep it private—because they could've found a way to make him pay for being open, and probably would have. 

There were probably universities where it was much more acceptable for athletics departments to have "diversity," but nowhere that had wanted to hire him.

"No." Charles shook his head quickly. He glanced at Rhett, a nervous question in his shy gaze. "You?"

He knew this game, too. 

"Never found the right person," said Rhett smoothly. He took another sip of wine for himself. 

Charles nodded, like he'd understood the answer.

Rhett had tried to engage him in sports conversation about North Carolina teams when they'd first realized the state connection. Sports talk would've been a way to make the meal go happily fast. But Charles was so thoroughly uninterested in sports he couldn't keep it up.

"I tend to live out of hotels," said Charles, casually. "I've got one at the moment, because I'm traveling again soon."

Rhett absorbed that for a moment. He had to try to decide if this good-looking man was hitting on him, or if he was being frankly imaginative. He took another sip of his wine.

"Oh, good, the next course is here." Charles sat up straighter, wriggling a little. He seemed very...flexible. 

Rhett drank some more wine. He tried not to focus on Charles's hands as he began to work on the next course, when it was finally served. It was a salad that had been made pretty damned sparingly. 

It's a good thing this is for charity, thought Rhett sourly. If I was paying this much for an actual meal, I'd expect not to starve to death.

He watched as Charles carefully separated tomatoes and olives off his salad before taking a bite. He chewed that one bite for a very long time. 

Rhett was done with half his salad. "You don't like those, either?" He nodded to the man's plate.

Charles startled a little, then shook his head. "Do you want them?"

"Sure. You can have some of my croutons," said Rhett, being generous. Again he felt like he was in a lunchroom. "So, why'd you come to this thing? Aside from charity, I mean. I'm beginning to think it would be less hassle to just write a check." 

"Meeting people and making connections, like everybody," said Charles. "Still looking for that big break." He gave Rhett a big smile and sheepishly accepted some croutons. "Thanks."

"Why don't you like tomatoes?" asked Rhett. He hadn't met many people who didn't. "I didn't think you could get out of the south without loving a good old 'mater."

"I don't mind them cooked. Like ketchup. I don't mind ketchup," said Charles, picking through his salad carefully, balancing a crouton perfectly in the center of the bite he arranged on the fork, and then eating it with careful precision. His jaw made a kind of noise when he chewed, and he chewed a lot.

Rhett tried to figure out what it was about the man that commanded his attention. It wasn't just his career, which he'd barely talked about and certainly hadn't seemed to be bragging about. 

It wasn't just that he was good-looking, although he was. Rhett had been around good-looking men in his life. There was something about this guy that called to Rhett, deeper than looks. He was fascinating. 

"You're gonna have to stop somewhere and eat something else after this, if that's all you're having," observed Rhett. "You're gonna be starving."

His heart thumped, and he stared at Charles. Had he really been that bold? 

Charles shook his head slightly. "I have some snacks at the hotel room. I won't have to stop anywhere."

Rhett stared at him. Had his hint been too obscure, or was Charles turning him down?

"By the way," said Charles, clearing his throat uncomfortably, fiddling with his shirt, trying to straighten it. "My friend call me Link."

"Lank?" asked Rhett, leaning closer. He hadn't quite heard.

"Link," repeated the man, carefully.

"Oh—like the game." Rhett had played it obsessively as a child. He wondered if he should ask, but Link's expression was forbidding.

"It's a nickname, from my middle name. But it sounds more like me than Charles. So you can call me Link, if you want."

"Sure," said Rhett. "If you'll call me Rhett." And he smiled his most charming smile.

"Don't have a childhood nickname of your own?" Link smiled back, soft and sunny, a smile to light up the day for you.

Rhett shook his head gently. "So it's Link, for your middle name, not Charlie for Charles?"

"I'm the third. Charles Lincoln Neal III," he said. "So other names were kinda taken. You can't have three men in the same family all having the same name without some creative nicknaming." 

His voice got softer and more Southern when he talked about his family. Rhett found himself ridiculously charmed by that.

"I'd invite you to my next game, when I'm coaching," observed Rhett, "if you're still in the area. But that doesn't seem to be your scene. Do you golf?"

Link shook his head, a grimace twitching across his features. "The only sporty thing in my life is bowling, and I haven't done that in years. I played soccer when I was a kid, but only because if you were a boy, you had to play a sport. I did get on goal once," he observed. "And my teammate said I should act like I meant to do it. But it was a shock."

Rhett grinned at the mental image. "My family was always real sporty. I got to be the favorite son for a little while, when I played basketball in college." He grinned at the knowledge. "My older brother had other plans, or he could've done it before me." 

"You didn't have other plans?" Link looked at him curiously.

Rhett shrugged. He recalled not really wanting to play ball in college, a certain restlessness, wanting to get out and try new things, do something else with his life, but a lack of direction, an unnamed itch to do something, but no idea what, and no one to do it with. In the end, it had been easier to go with the flow. He was good at basketball; he might as well play in college.

"I was never gonna be good enough to go pro," Rhett found himself confiding. "I'd have skipped college ball if I could've found something I really wanted to do. But now..." He shrugged. "I coach."

"Well, do you like it?"

"Not particularly. But it's a job, and I care about my kids." 

"Kids? You have kids?"

"I mean, my players." He shrugged again, feeling self-conscious. Shouldn't have called them his kids. "I can play guitar on my time off."

"You're into music? I'm into music. Who do you like? What kind of things do you play?" Link perked up.

"It's a hobby," said Rhett. "You know, some old country favorites. Occasionally I'll dabble in writing something," he added in a quick little mumble.

"I was a big fan of Merle Haggard," said Link. "But I like a lot of modern stuff, too. John Meyer, of course. Lord Huron." He smiled at Rhett, wide and sweet and open. "Play me sometimes, sometime?"

Rhett's mouth had gone dry. "Sure. I'm a Merle man myself."

Link's smile grew impossibly brighter. "You like Merle, too? I—" His gesture, too big, knocked over his wine glass. He recoiled, jumping, making a loud noise with his chair. A spoon clattered to the floor, and a small stain crossed the tablecloth. 

Faces turned to stare, judgmental. Their bubble had burst. Link, suddenly an anxious mess, was trying to clean up the wine, mumbling to himself, dabbing with napkins, his hands shaky.

Rhett handed him a napkin wordlessly but otherwise stayed back and let him settle things for himself. He turned to his other neighbor and spoke loudly, drawing attention to himself, so people would stop staring. A few judgmental looks still went Link's way, but eventually, everything was settled. 

He more or less calmed down, although Rhett noticed he didn't go back to eating. Maybe having a spill had ruined his appetite. Rhett, meanwhile, was still starving. Two servings of salmon and one measly salad didn't do much to tame his stomach. 

He reached for the bread on the table, long arms letting him grab two pieces directly and bring them back. He offered one to Link, who accepted it, with shaky hands, and began to rip it to pieces nervously.

"My nanny makes these great biscuits," he said. "You ever notice you can't get good biscuits most places?"

"Sure," said Rhett, around his bread. "So you were sayin' you're a Merle man yourself?" he inquired politely.

"I love Merle. I think I was in love with Merle growing up." He cast Rhett a quick, watchful glance, judging to see if he would recoil or be grossed out. "He just sings about it all, man. All his feelings, right out there. He feels things and he sings about them so you can feel them, too. Of course, I've always been more or less in love with music. And you can't help looking up to the people who create the music you love. Wish I could sing better myself, but I've only got a mediocre voice, and no real talent with any instruments."

They talked about music happily till the desert round came and went, till the meal was finally over, and Rhett realized he was disappointed. 

"Still hungry, but I almost don't want to go," he observed. "It's been a real pleasure talkin' with you, Neal." He held out a hand to shake. Around them, diners were vacating, chairs were scraping back. 

Link looked at his hand, hesitated, looked up at his face, then accepted the hand. Unlike some men, he shook very gingerly. Rhett was a little more gentle than he'd normally be. He didn't want to scare Link off.

"Maybe we could go somewhere and get something else to eat," he said, real casually.

"I don't know, man," said Link.

"Don't tell me you're not hungry. I'm hungry, and I had some of your meal." He smiled, trying to look harmless and charming. "We could even go to a drive through and just get some fries."

Link looked tempted. "I guess we could do that. Can I have your number? We might could talk about music sometimes," he said, a bit wistfully. "Or get together and I can listen to you play me something."

"I'd love to," said Rhett smoothly. Inwardly, he fist-pumped.  _ YES! _ "Maybe you could show me some of your documentaries," he added. "I love learning things."

"They're mostly pretty niche, but sure, I'd love to, if you think you're interested." He met Rhett's gaze, a quizzical look there, like he still had unanswered questions. Maybe why this big man wasn't letting go of his hand.

Rhett finally remembered to let go. He cleared his throat. "What do you say? Let's go get something to eat?"

"Sure," said Link, digging out his phone. "Here's my number." He held up the screen for Rhett to see where he'd pulled it up.

Rhett dutifully entered it and then sent Link a text. Link smiled when he saw it, looking down at his screen with a fond, gentle look. 

_ Hey handsome _ , Rhett had texted. Was that clear enough?

_ Hey yourself _ , Link replied, and slid his phone away.

They walked out to the parking lot together, not talking. Link shoved his hands in his pockets. It was dusk, a beautiful, orange-red sky colorful and peaceful looking. Rhett thought he should say something to Link but he was out of words. He felt good—peaceful, excited, like something was going just right. For a change, things seemed to be slotting into place perfectly.

"You want me to drive? Or should we take our own cars?"

"You can drive me," said Link. "You'll have to bring me back here, of course, but what's the point of going to a drive through if we take separate cars?"

Rhett agreed happily. On the drive, he told Link about the extensive personal study he'd once undertaken to decide which was the best fast food fries in the area. 

"You're very food motivated," observed Link.

"I'm not a dog," said Rhett.

"I didn't mean it like that." 

"Well, what are you motivated by?" Rhett was still slightly offended.

Link looked ashamed of himself. "I don't know." He fidgeted nervously with the seatbelt. 

Rhett decided to forgive him. "Do you have any favorite foods?" he asked more gently.

"I'm a fan of peanut butter. I've always liked cereal." He pursed his lips, as if trying to remember if there was anything else he liked enough to say. 

He had some good looking lips.

"Ice cream," said Link cautiously. "I like ice cream." 

It all sounded like the sorts of foods a kid would like. 

_ I could turn you into a sundae _ , thought Rhett. But he'd better not say that out loud, not yet. He knew he was a horny bastard, and maybe slightly kinky when it came to food, but he'd better not scare Link off before anything came of the spark between them.

"Do you want to, um, come to my hotel room?" asked the fidgeting Link Neal, not looking at Rhett.

Rhett let out his breath. A slow grin crossed his face, too big, making his cheeks crease. "Yeah, I'd like that," he said gruffly.

"I really like you," went on Link, awkward and nervous. "I feel like...there's something  _ there _ ." He waved a hand between them. "Like I knew you in another life, if I believed in stuff like that, which I don't. I don't believe in anything," he said. "But you're—you're—real interesting," he said finally, in a small, suffocated voice.

"I already said  _ yes _ , Neal," said Rhett, soft and gruff, smiling.

"Link," said Link softly. "You can call me Link. We're gonna be friends, aren't we? I mean, even if we don't end up havin' chemistry in bed, I—I feel like we've got  _ some _ kinda chemistry, you know?"

"Some kinda chemistry," said Rhett, his voice a low growl of agreement. Even Link's awkward rambling was making him horny.

"Even though you like sports. You're like, a sports  _ fiend _ . And even though I travel so much, I feel like...there's something there. And if that's true, then ya gotta make room for it, right? I don't travel  _ all _ the time." He looked at Rhett, almost pleadingly. "I know I'm not saying the right things, but you know what I  _ mean _ , right?"

And funnily enough, Rhett did. He understood Link better than he had any right to, after just an evening together.

"We'll have the fries and then go to your place," soothed Rhett. "You don't have to convince me. I like you already, and I can't wait to see about that chemistry in bed." He gave Link a wink, even though he was blushing a little. He was delighted when Link blushed too, ducking his head.

" _ Good _ ," mumbled Link. "I'm not all talk. I do put out."

Rhett laughed. " _ Put out? _ Who says that anymore?"

"Give me a break! I'm nervous," said Link. "I don't do this kinda thing often. Oh gosh." He raked fingers back through his hair.

"Me neither. Hey. Calm down." Rhett put a hand on Link's knee. "If you put out or not, I'll still like you."

"Is it stupid to rush into something?" wondered Link aloud.

"Probably," said Rhett affably. "If you change your mind, we can just hang out." 

They got their fries, and sat parked in the parking lot, munching, sneaking looks at each other. Rhett smiled encouragingly whenever he met Link's gaze, and Link reached over to touch him, light, questioning touches, his fingers curious about Rhett's arms, his hair, his beard. 

There was a softness to Link. Even though he had broad shoulders, a narrow waste, and a very masculine face, there was something about him that felt soft to Rhett. He might be slim—even a bit bony—but he radiated a good energy, a gentle, hungry, sexual energy Rhett liked.

Rhett decided to return the favor and touch Link, too. He let his hand go up to cup a soft cheek, and trail gently back down that slim chest. 

Link shivered.

"If you'd rather come back to my place, I can play guitar for you," said Rhett, soft and casual. "We can get your car, you can follow me there, if you want." 

He thought they'd be more comfortable there, and Link could leave easily if he wanted to, instead of having to kick Rhett out of his cold hotel room.

A hotel room might feel sordid and impersonal, even if Link was staying there. Rhett had a big bed and a comfortable house. He thought he could put Link at ease there, and maybe take his time and take him apart properly.

Link hesitated, then nodded. "I hope you're not a serial killer," he observed. "You could probably overpower me real easy. Have your wicked way with me, kill me in the midst of orgasm, and hide my body in the woods."

Rhett laughed, a genuine belly laugh. "Maybe  _ you're _ the serial killer and that's your way of throwing me off."

"Maybe," agreed Link, "but I'd have to have a gun or something. I could never overpower  _ you _ on my own. You're a big guy with big muscles. And I couldn't hide a gun in this outfit." To demonstrate the tightness, he ran hands over his body. 

Rhett grinned. "Maybe you got a knife. Maybe you're dangerous."

"I  _ am _ dangerous with a knife, but mostly to myself. Can I kiss you?"

"Gosh. Yeah, kiss me, tough guy."

"I'm not tough," said Link a soft whisper, as he moved in close. It was a tentative, careful kiss. Then he drew back again and went back to hi fries, eating quickly and nervously. "Thanks," he said quietly. 

"I'm gonna kiss you properly as soon as I get you to my lair," growled Rhett. "Text someone where you're going if you want to. I won't be offended." He brushed fingers against Link's hand and watched his visible reaction. Link wanted him. It was so good to feel wanted.

It was going to be a good evening. It was going to be a good friendship, too, he thought—he dared to hope.

"You can drive me back to my car now," said Link in a tight little voice. "I'm ready to follow you home."

_ Like a lost dog _ , thought Rhett, and knew he'd never say it aloud. 

Link was already slipping into his heart like a dog following him home. But he didn't mean that in a rude way, and it would sound rude, out loud. 

He hoped he wasn't being dumb, to think there was something real here, more than just getting laid. Probably he was. Well, it wouldn't be the first dumb thing Rhett McLaughlin ever did.

"Yes sir," he said playfully, and started the engine.

On impulsive, he began to sing as he drove, one of the soft, sad songs he loved. " _ I'll never swim Kern River again _ ."

Link was silent for a stunned moment, watching him with big eyes, not even looking like he was breathing. His hands gripped his knees, hard. Then, tentatively, his voice soft and sweetly accented, he began to join in, singing Merle's familiar words along with Rhett. Their voices blended, strangely perfect. 

When he parked, song over, back at Link's car in the near-empty parking lot, he looked over, and was surprised to see Link biting his lip, looking like he was fighting back tears.

"What's the matter? What's wrong?" He was taken aback. He'd thought everything was going so well, too.

"N-nothing." Link wiped at his eyes. "Just got to me. Not sure why. Singing like that, with you. I don't know. I never—" His voice cracked. "I wish I'd met you sooner. Like I missed out. What if we knew each other when we were both in North Carolina?"

"That would've been nice," Rhett agreed, staring at him. "Nothing else is wrong?"

"Just caught me off guard." He smiled at Rhett tremulously. "I felt really in tune with you. And Merle, and, uh, everything? All at once? It was unexpected. But I kinda also felt sad. Like I missed out on this before. I don't know if that makes any sense." 

It did, in a way. Rhett had been surprised by it too. "We do sing together nicely," agreed Rhett cautiously. He'd been feeling pretty good about everything. "You still want to do this? Or maybe call it a day and try some other time? After all, there's no hurry. I mean that. I think it'll keep, whatever we got here." He gestured between them. It felt real to him.

He didn't have to seal the deal today, because somehow, in that moment, he felt sure there were going to be days ahead, so many days. There was no hurry at all, with Link. It was going to be good.

"No! Are you kidding?" Link flashed his teeth in a grin. "If the singing's that good, what's the sex gonna be like?"

And Rhett laughed again. One way or another, this man kept making him laugh. "I can't wait to see," he agreed, and Link gave him a big, cheesy grin.

"Gimme a kiss," he said impulsively, and leaned towards Rhett.

And Rhett gave him a kiss that promised Merle and French fries and sex and tomorrows.

When Link drew back it was with a frustrated sound and then a quick, satisfied breath. "You do want me," he observed. "I wasn't sure."

"What, I wasn't clear enough?" growled Rhett.

"Well, not really. You're a big handsome guy, and I'm—a nervous, twitchy mess."

"You're hot as hell, Link Neal," said Rhett sternly. "Don't go trying to tell me you managed to wander through life without knowing that."

Link nodded earnestly. "Some people find me attractive, it's true. Not usually the guys I want," he admitted, meeting Rhett's gaze a little more boldly now.

"This guy wants you," said Rhett, pointing to himself, maintaining eye contact.

"Then he's got me," said Link, real quiet, not looking away.

Their eye contact was intense, and it felt like they could hold it forever. It felt right, looking at this man, as if seeing into his very soul.

Even in that moment, Rhett thought it meant something. He had a premonition in that moment, an unshakable sort of feeling that this wasn't just for a night. Not for either of them. They were starting something serious here.

On into the future, when he looked back at this moment as the years passed, he always thought smugly that he'd known right then. He sure did have Link Neal, and he wasn't letting go.

Not all of those years turned out to be easy—figuring out how to blend their lives, how to communicate and trust each other in all the ways that mattered—but it was true, at the beginning just as much as later. 

He sure as hell had Link. And Link had him, already.

"Then get in your car and let me take you for a ride," said Rhett, his voice low and intense.

Link laughed, light and happy. "You say the sweetest things, big man." 

He grinned at Rhett, then hopped out to of the car, ran lightly to his own, and got in. 

A minute later, he flashed his headlights at Rhett, and Rhett started off, driving off into the night, and leading Link home.

<<<>>>


End file.
